Broken Shells
By Sprite
In the heart of the furnace, Fangs aflame and gnawing, Incinerating the odd, mistaken, The unfit, tired and worn, Dreams stuffed down are Choking me now. I miss the noise that made it hard To think about my wrongs, and the Safety of never being alone to atone for beliefs unapproved by anyone. I have cast my desires of life before swine. Littered passages of trash disputes are of use to feed my famished mind. But though I know that I need fuel to survive, Fatigued, I cannot burn it all. I need to feed the yearning Creature inside this wall. So I swallow and purge, swallow and cry. Screaming, blow my way to your abode, To the hollow cavity of diamond walls Clean as a cadaver, with beautiful decor. To scramble eggs you have to Break their shells. We humans live here room by room. Like egg whites and yolks separated, You in your bowl doing the breast stroke, While in my own gleaming bowl, I gasp, Smothered by the empty air, screaming, Crying, but not allowed to to say why.edited an older poem Written March 27th, 2002 © on Sep 06 2002 08:48 AM PST, Joyce 0 • 1
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"In the heart of the furnace, ..."